Silver and Gold
by Katarik
Summary: Eventual DracoBlaise slash, currently one-sided. Some DracoPansy.This is a multi-parter, so there will be more chapters. Chapter Three up.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini are not mine. They belong to J. K Rowling. This story was unbeta'd. If you notice mistakes in either grammar or spelling, please inform me in your review and I will fix them. Thank you.

Draco Malfoy is not beautiful, or even handsome, but he can very often make people forget that fact. His skin is too fair for beauty, and he is too small. His complexion is clear, his mouth a wickedly curved coral temptation, and his skin as smoothly soft as the skin of a fairy-tale princess, but where a classical fairy tale would have roses there is only the faintest flush of pink, the color of first dawn and diluted blood. . He is more eerie than pretty, with his light hair and light skin and light fierce eyes. It is as though all the color in him had been burnt away long ago, leaving only silvery remnants behind.

            His tip-tilted eyes are a clear grey, the color of shadowed smoke and moonstones and things that fade away. They are framed by long eyelashes only a shade darker than his hair, a gleam rather than a contrast. His brows are also near-invisible against his skin, and in another might look unfinished. Veela blood guarantees that he will never be invisible, though the blood is too diluted to assure positive attention.

            His face used to be all points, sharp as his poisoned tongue, but now at sixteen the pointy face has smoothed and lengthened into angular planes with sharp cheekbones with a near-Fae bone structure. He is still small, only five foot six, but his body is built on long graceful lines. He is almost a miniature statue, done in marble and silver.

Draco's hair is straight as heavy sheets of rainwater, spiderweb-fine, and close to the color of platinum. It falls past his pointed chin and he is constantly flicking it back in a flickerflash of gleaming light. That's what Blaise noticed first, constant shimmering motion and this sneering snarling boy who never shuts up. Blaise missed Italy, when he first came to Hogwarts. Draco reminded him of Aphrodite, the cruelest and loveliest goddess, with hair and skin pale as the foam from which she rose. In his mind Blaise has always called Draco _sukien_, feather of the sea.

Blaise Zabini is beautiful, but too pretty to be handsome. He has a gift for fading into shadows, so his beauty is often forgotten. His mouth is full and often curved into a smiling sneer, with lips the deep red of ripe cherries. He looks more ordinary than Draco, with his dark hair and dark skin and dark cool eyes. But the Slytherins, who notice Blaise far more often than the other Houses, would rather face the Headmaster any day. Dumbledore would punish them with detention or loss of points, but Blaise has a viciously effective habit of striking from behind.

Blaise's skin is as close to gold as Slytherin House will ever accept, save in their Galleons. Some have said that he is the color of molten gold mixed with pure ground cinnamon, and so Blaise takes care always to smell of vanilla. He enjoys doing the unexpected. Draco smells of blood and chocolate, and sometimes of frosted stone, and Blaise does not know why he remembers this.

Blaise's eyes are a shadowy golden brown, almost the exact shade of good whiskey with no light behind it. His eyelashes are also long, but dark as his hair. Some would say that his lashes are as dark as his black heart.

His hair is true black, with hints of red when the light strikes it perfectly. It waves gently to his shoulders, barely touching them. He keeps it tied back with a gold silk ribbon, because Draco's eyes flashed outrage and his nostrils flared when he saw a Slytherin wearing gold. Blaise, for some reason, hates having Draco not notice him.

What he doesn't know is that Draco has a tendency to notice Blaise, and Draco doesn't know why he bothered to memorize the way Blaise's mouth narrows when focused on something any more than Blaise knows why he bothered to memorize the blazingly happy way Draco smiled back in second year, when he became Slytherin Seeker.


	2. Silver and Gold

Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini belong to J. K. Rowling. I am not her. If I were her, Draco's character and the role of Slytherin House would be explored much more fully than they are.

            Blaise sits in the shadows, and watches. Draco stands in the light, and burns, and Blaise would swear that the fire shrinks when Draco looks at it. It is almost as though the fire would not waste its energy trying to compete with a dragon. In Slytherin House, even the fire is too cunning to fight a losing battle.

            In the firelight Draco's mouth looks crimson, soaked in blood, and Blaise remembers the first time Draco changed him. Third year, in January, Draco had gotten a small basket of ripe peaches. They are wizards, after all, and what's magic for if not to circumvent those pesky seasons? Draco had grinned delightedly, flashing sharp teeth, and had sunk near-fangs into the swell of one particularly delicious peach. And Blaise had looked at the peaches, then looked at Draco licking the scarlet juice from the curve of his left wrist, mouth slick and reddened, and wanted. Peaches have never been Blaise's favorite fruit, but it seemed like he could develop a taste for them after all. So Blaise had calmly asked if he could have a peach, and Draco had looked at him. Grey eyes wide in slight surprise, pale skin at wrist and mouth still damp with juice and saliva, lips slightly parted and red as Gryffindor blood, and Blaise would break his wand to know what peaches tasted like when taken from Draco Malfoy's sneering mouth. Then Draco had shrugged, and tossed him a random peach. Blaise nodded perfunctory thanks and bit into it. Soft and sweet, yielding to teeth and tongue, and Blaise absently wished that Draco had tossed him the peach with his left hand.

            "Zabini." Blaise would rise from the dead if that voice spoke his name, and he opens half-lidded eyes to see Draco in front of him holding out a peach, slim hips and slender arm and aristocratic wrist curved into a harmonious whole. Blaise wants to break Draco into a thousand sharp-edged pieces and feel himself bleed, and now he understands how a serpent could have tempted Eve.

            "Want a bite?", and Draco's eyes are glittering promises neither of them really understand, promises that sound like moans and taste like sweaty skin and feel like forever. Blaise reaches out with one long-fingered hand, and takes a large bite, eyes fixed on Draco's the entire time. Draco smiles, but on his prettily cruel mouth everything has the faint flavor of a sneer, and takes a bite from the same place Blaise did, and walks away. Blaise has, naturally, never seen a basilisk's gaze, but he imagines that a basilisk has slanted eyes grey as the in-between-places and a silvery sheen on his scales.

            He catches sight of Pansy in the mirror on the mantel, and her eyes are fixed on him. Pansy is the one reason he might feel guilty possessing Draco. He knows that she loves Draco, and has for years, and Pansy is a Slytherin. Now she knows that he wants the boy she loves, and he might actually have a chance. Draco values Pansy, and she has influence over him, but Draco values Blaise too.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hogwarts world, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, or any other character mentioned herein. I am not receiving any pecuniary benefits from this work.

St. Blaise was patron saint of throats, and so Blaise feels noticing them to be his duty. Granger's throat can barely be seen behind her wild hood of hair, but the winter-gold flickers of it interest him very much. Granger is nothing to him but an irritant, but he thinks snaring her would be entertaining. Potter's golden-boy throat and Blaise wants, idly, to make it match Gryffindor colors using Potter's red blood.

Draco's throat is best. Pale pale moonlight skin, ice glowing in the moonlight and framed by shimmering platinum hair. Blaise wants to bite the strong tendons he can see when Draco laughs, wants him to throw his noble head back in invitation. Draco's collarbone, with that hollow that shadows gather in. Blaise wants to pin Draco to the wall and lick all the shadows away and feel Draco moan deep in his slim chest. The clean line of Draco's jaw and the curve of his cheekbone shining wet with the mark of Blaise's tongue, and a necklace of bruises on Draco's throat.

Blaise tears his eyes from Draco and back to his essay on how religion affected magical history. He hears Pansy's controlled voice murmuring to Draco and the soft well-bred drawl of a response. Draco's voice is almost tender, a vocal form of the quiet smile that is not for effect and that no one is supposed to see. Blaise saw it once, when he woke in the night and saw Draco reading. (If Blaise ever looked into the Mirror of Erised, he would see Draco wearing that smile but with blood on his lips, would see Draco's eyes clear and light-filled and endless as Blaise imagines they must be when Draco comes.)

Pansy would know what Draco looks like when he comes, and Blaise envies her the knowledge. But he has seen Pansy weep in Draco's bed when she thought no one could hear, and he knows that no curse he could cast would hurt her so much as loving Draco Malfoy does.


End file.
